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*Wiuuu-wiuuu-wiuuu
The sudden wail of the siren made the girl sleeping quietly on the bed flinch slightly as she woke up — not out of fear, but more from a feeling that resembled a burst of irritation.
— Fuck... no, fuck this... do you even know what time it is? — she muttered under her breath, muffled, through clenched teeth, cracking one eye open and already feeling her whole body squeezed into that red, tight, almost skin-fused bodysuit with those fucking pink leggings — the one that, somehow, always showed up on her every time she woke up.
She slowly turned her head toward the window, immediately feeling that heavy, pressing weight on her chest and the sway of those two useless, always-in-the-way, heavy yet inseparable parts of the sexy superhero image. She groaned. Low, deep, almost animalistic — but still in a woman’s voice. It wasn’t a groan of pain — more like a groan of surrender to yet another humiliation.
— Bitches… I was sleeping… — she said, scrunching up her displeased face and rubbing her forehead with those small, feminine palms, smooth soft skin and such thin little fingers — they only looked fragile, when in reality they could punch through a concrete wall with ease.
The siren still kept howling inside her head, though the room — and even the street — was dead silent. Yet it didn’t seem to surprise her one bit. She clenched her fists slightly and, in the next moment, as if winking — something clicked inside her. No sound — just a switch flipping. Like changing the radio station.
— ‘…minimum of six in the building. Two with assault rifles, one holding a hostage by the window…’
click
— ‘…God, please save me, please don’t let them hurt my daughter…’
click
— ‘…What’s going on? Why are there so many cops…’
— Oh for fuck’s sake! Shut the fuck up already! — suddenly rising from the bed and feeling her tits bounce in that goddamn skintight bodysuit, Madam Fitting growled — quietly, viciously, more from the inside than aloud. The fabric stretched in several places at once: her breasts seemed like they were about to break free, nipples painfully tense and stuck to the synthetic material, and between her legs, under the stretched fabric, everything pressed in so tight it felt like someone had designed it on purpose — to remind her every damn second that there was nothing male left down there. Not even a fold. It was all different now, and she felt it. Always felt it.
— Well, fuckin’ great, she’s awake now… — she muttered through her teeth, stepping barefoot onto the cold floorboards. Her hair — long, reddish-gold, smelling like some vanilla-shampoo mix — softly fell into her face. And, of course, she immediately caught a strand with her long nails, yanked it back with an irritated tug, stopping halfway to the fridge to grab a beer.
— Nooo… nooo fuck no! — she hissed through her teeth, feeling it rise again inside — that sensation, or more precisely — that urge, growing stronger and stronger. To break free. To leap. To save. Again...